


like everything was under a spell

by stormss



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: (((:, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Julia/Kady if you squint, M/M, Multi, Platonic Soulmates, Post-Season/Series 03, Recovered Memories, True Love's Kiss, everyone loves each other and all the problems are solved, there is some HEAVY speculation and just like pure bs in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 16:59:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15976580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormss/pseuds/stormss
Summary: "True love's kiss— you're fucking with me, right?" Margo searches Quentin's face with her wide doe eyes, a skeptical gleam working to hide the hope he knows is hovering right there in her mind. "I mean, not only is it rapey as hell, but we don't even know if it'll work."Quentin thinks of Eliot being physically and mentally drained every second they're not doing something to help. The monster said it himself — he's a creature of habit. So what if they could finally break that loop? He eventually sighs, and levels with her. "It's worth a try, isn't it?"





	like everything was under a spell

**Author's Note:**

> hello! so please bare with me here because this is just...nonsense that i thought of late at night and i couldn't rest until i wrote it. i'm fairly new to this fandom so, here: take this as a gift! 
> 
> the title is from "fallingwater" by maggie rogers.

Hidden between the lines of volume five of _Fillory and Further,_ there exists a tale as old as the magical realm itself. It's a tale of greed; one of a hunger for power so insatiable the only possible outcome was death. It's bleak and far too much like recent historical events, so, to make it quick: everything is resolved with a single act of true love. Really. You see, there was this minor-god that thrived, not unlike Ember, on the chaos of human fragility. However, while human fallings became its true vice, a pair of clever witches older than Fillory discovered that love, as strong and true as the stream that runs through much of the land, could work to please the god even more. 

They cast a spell, one that would settle over Fillory like gold sunlight, making it so that love like this could undo even the most painful of curses. The magic of these witches and their protection flowed through every being in the land, creating a harmonious and relatively peaceful reality that would last thousands of years. 

To be honest, this concept is kind of lost on a twelve-year-old Quentin, who finds this story too similar to the Disney movies he sat through when he was much younger and his babysitter had absolutely no resolve for doing anything  _but_ sitting him in front of the television for hours. It's an easy thing to look over, this hidden story, and it doesn't take away from the wonder he feels about his favourite fictional world. It eventually becomes a dangerous feat; the fact that so many readers overlook and forget about this story, because it is mirrored in Fillory. Generations die out, and the children of Earth cease to discover the portals for many years. Fillory's other problems, namely their broken government and trouble with the wellspring, take precedent, so children stop learning about these witches and their spell. And so, danger starts to creep in once more. 

Oh, how dumb it was, to forget about the greatest spell of all. 

* * *

It's an overwhelmingly gloomy day when the world quite literally crashes down around them. 

Alice had spent weeks trying to bring them back to who they once were, after she escaped The Order. She had to be even smarter than usual when it came to providing them with information and memories about who they once were, because on top of their usual shitty luck with everything in their lives, they were now wanted. By Fogg, by the creepy librarians, by practically everyone from their old lives. But she'd managed, as Alice Quinn always did, as a result of the guilt she felt over what happened to all of them. Of being one of the few hexed with knowledge of the truth. 

Quentin didn't want to mention how human it made her, but he's pretty sure she knows how big of a deal it is, that she rescued them from mundane life in New York. 

After they'd come together — as themselves again, truly, with magic flowing and memories painful but present in their souls — the main goal had been simple: excorsise the fucker taking up residence within Eliot, and do whatever they had to in order to bring the real Eliot, the one they all loved, back. No matter what. 

They find some sort of solace in an abandoned warehouse in the part of town that is fuelled by greasy spoons and crime. The soundtrack to their lives becomes police sirens and the snippy bark of stray dogs and the occasional uproar of a techno beat. It's something that none of them are used to, but the warehouse provided them with a copious amount of space, for them to work and sleep and hide. Penny23 gets his tattoos juiced up again and he travels for supplies, and Josh keeps them decently fed. But all in all, it gives them a place to think; to come together and research and try and lock down a plan. 

It was hard as shit. Especially in the beginning. 

It still is, really, and Quentin slowly feels the morale of the group slipping past any possible point of recovery. Tempers flare and personalities clash and things nearly fall apart on more than one occasion. The dull ache of guilt that kind of constantly sits in Quentin's chest begins to grow; the events of Blackspire, watching his friends forced into consuming the potion that would wipe their memories...it takes a toll on him. And now more guilt has been starting to blossom in the last few weeks, since they began devoting every waking moment to find a way to save El. He knows that Margo would be doing this with or without him, so he's got a safety net in her. Even if she won't admit it, she's eager to hear his possible solutions — even if they're usually frantic, and end up leading nowhere. 

But everyone else...they're all on the run, new to magic again, and stuck helping the two desperate fuckers who would never ask for help if they didn't absolutely need it. 

Quentin supposes they've all grown closer in the past few weeks, especially after the memory wipe. They're all constantly touching in some way, and it reminds him of his early days with Eliot and Margo, when the concept of  _platonic_ was lost on every single one of them. That same notion has pretty much rubbed off on them all, now, because Quentin can't remember the last time he walked into a room and there wasn't some grouping or pairing of them sitting half on top of one another, as if it was completely normal. Ever since they lost Penny40, Julia is really the only one who can comfort Kady, the two women soft around one another. Josh and Margo are strangely close now, maybe because they were in each other's presence during the wipe. 

And Quentin can always rely on Jules. Almost everyone can at this point. 

He's reminded of this now as he feels her fingers languidly comb through his hair, easy thanks to his position where his head rests in her lap. She, besides Alice, had been the quickest to begin channelling magic again, and she uses a pretty basic spell now that allows herself to prop up and continue reading some ancient tome on demons and evil spirits all while playing with his hair. It's something she used to do, way back when they were in high school and she had already locked herself away in his heart forever and they knew how to calm each other's anxieties before they even really understood what they were. Julia's always had a keen sense for telling when something was up with Quentin; when it came to crushes and debilitating anxiety attacks over school presentations, she always just  _knew._ She knows the real levity behind finding Eliot and saving him, and she probably understands better than Quentin himself, who is lost in his own head half the time. 

She chews on her thumbnail, eyes scanning over the page of Arabic text. 

While the group works well together, they've started slipping off to do their own thing over the past couple of days. It made more sense to put effort into what they were good at, and not everyone had the patience for reading ancient texts all day. Josh would keep them mellowed out with his seemingly endless supply of weed whenever they needed, all while offering tidbits of nerdbro information about dragons and magical remedies that sometimes unlocked answers they needed. Alice is constantly sitting with her nose in a book, researching old spells and some that had been black-listed over the years, while Kady and Penny work on locating Eliot — sometimes taking day trips to snoop around and look for anything that could help. Margo tries to find answers in Fillory, in the short trips she allows herself to go on, and Jules and Quentin do this: comforting each other and reading, for hours on end. 

For the first time in days, things feel almost okay. Tranquil, sort of. Everything still sucks balls and the warehouse physically shakes to its foundations when spells go wrong and Eliot is always at the forefront of his mind, but it's nice to drift off into blurry nothingness — even if it's only for a few minutes. They're starting to go stir-crazy though, if Penny's plan to find an old priest and a young priest to just "go all Exorcist on his ass" was anything to go off of. Quentin mulls it over now, wondering about the possibility of doing just that. 

"Quentin!" 

It startles both of them, and Julia loses hold on the spell and the book very narrowly misses Quentin's face as it falls from its spot levitating in the air. He shoots up into a seated position, rubbing his eyes. None of them have really been sleeping, and Quentin knows it's been at least four days since he actually had more than two hours to rest his eyes. For Margo, who's trying to balance the task of finding her missing best friend  _and_  ruling a kingdom, despite the welcomed help from Fen, he's sure it's been at least a week since she got some decent shut-eye. 

It doesn't take away from the general ruthlessness of her though, as she still sends a nervous chill down his spine when he sees her standing in the doorway with her hands placed expertly on her hips. Despite her body language, the look on her face is soft, nervous; something he wouldn't typically associate with the Margo that she allows the world to see — the Margo that is fierce and brilliant and holds a generally terrifying disposition. Maybe it's the bangs Janet cut into her hair. Maybe it's the fear that radiates through her, leaving her snappy and desperate to lead the charge. So Julia is half a second behind Quentin when he stands to meet Margo, his hand lingering on her shoulder when he touches her to offer some form of comfort. 

Margo roughly clears her throat, fiddling with the eyepatch she began wearing again once she returned to her normal self; something about Fairy Sight causing her nightmares.

"Kady has a lead," she starts, glancing between them both. "She thinks she found him." 

* * *

"I mean, it's hard to say for sure," Kady quickly types something into a search bar, "but we cross-checked the spell with this video and, well. Just watch."

She sits back so they all have a view of the screen, but he isn't sure that he really wants to see. Quentin's stomach drops as he watches the grainy video on Julia's laptop, the footage shaky and dark but he knows — he  _knows_ that it's him. His back is turned to the camera, but that's his hair and that's his voice, the little bit of it that's audible. Margo makes a small noise as she watches as this creature with Eliot's face stands above a man that is convulsing on the rough pavement, clutching his throat as he is magically strangled. The monster is playing with his food, making him feel every possible form of pain, like an apex predator. 

The footage cuts away before the monster can deliver the killing blow, and fades into the news story accompanying the clip, where the anchor asks for anyone with information to come forward to the police. 

Margo speaks before he can, her voice scary and dripping with rage as she asks one simple question: "Where?" 

"Somewhere on Third...it might be bullshit, but when we talked to the guy who posted the video he said he saw him walking toward some hotel afterward." Kady pulls out the cheap tourist map of Brooklyn she'd used for one of the locator spells, and the guy's statement lines up with the speck of glowing light on Third Avenue. "I say we start there and move outward." 

"Christ, life is a fucking nightmare." Margo mutters, meeting Quentin's gaze before looking out at the group. "Alright then, let's go snatch this motherfucker up before he kills anyone else." 

* * *

When he first wakes in a body that is tall and lean and buzzing with magic and regality, he cannot help but to smile. 

The last few vessels he'd occupied were completely devoid of magic; strong enough to get the job done, but eventually dying after a week. This one, however, will work quite nicely, he thinks. 

He can feel the measly soul of the human magician trying to fight back, but he cannot be bothered to acknowledge him. This is his body, the magician could go fuck himself. He's having too much fun, dancing in the streets and watching the glowing box they call television and ripping apart unexpecting humans, limb by limb. Can you blame him? He's been locked away for a millennia — he needs to stretch his legs, and refuel on human souls and, if he was lucky, their magic. 

The last time he was let loose, before that damned goddess built the only prison that could contain him, it took a lot of work to capture his victims. There was the problem with the vessels, of course, and you could call him prehistoric, it doesn't bother him much. He just knew that souls tasted best when they were pure, and when they were initially caught without the use of magic — ergo, it took a lot of effort. 

(And hey, if he used some magic to liven up the show afterward, forgive him. He was a creature driven by his need of entertainment). 

Despite having enough power in his pinky finger to zap half of Fillory into dust, he always preferred doing things himself. He liked the intricacies of laying traps and watching stupid humans and talking animals alike falling right into them. When they stopped working and food was starting to become scarce, he eventually took over the body of a young boy who'd presumably gone missing. It had worked pretty well, to lure in good-hearted adults that wanted to help the child. He ate well, thanks to these adults and their human need to stuff a child's face with stew and bread, and gained power by harvesting their more magically-inclined creatured he came across.  

But then he'd been locked away.

And Brooklyn, as he's learned this strange city is called, is a completely different playing field than Fillory. Some souls were less inviting here — blood was tainted by the narcotics humans consumed, and the burden of disease they were oh so susceptible to. He craved the magicians, those present when he was shot at and freed, but it would take some time to properly cage them all and come up with fun ways to kill them. Besides, he liked killing time by watching these humans of Brooklyn interact with one another; he enjoyed imitating the way these people would order their caffeinated drinks or move in synch with each other. And when the hunger came, they were great snacking material. And for them, he'd need to use a new approach: attraction. 

Human lust is truly one of the only things he's come to be able to rely on when going after prey, here in the city. He has lucked out, simply because this body seems to have some sort of appeal to the humans around him. He just has to  _act_ on it by mustering a non-sinister smile and playing out the easy steps of flirtation he's learned about over the the last few weeks, and the victims practically walk right into his grasp. 

He is smart enough, of course, to avoid areas with security cameras, and he knows to keep his body generally void of any obvious signs of murder, as he figures any human would do. He bathes as well as he can, and he will look at himself in the foggy mirror and smile, taking in the destruction he's causing this body. The unruly curls, the hair that grows in over his jaw, the rather beautiful contrast of his glowing eyes when they're lined in black. 

Every morning he will simply cast away the bodies with a glance, sending them to the deepest waters he can imagine with his mind. He will dress this body in the same clothing as always, and prepare his mental kill list, the same name always right there at the top:  _Quentin Coldwater._ Whenever this name merely comes to mind, he can feel the magician desperately trying to claw himself out of his own body, to no avail. He thinks of the small one, the new High King —  _Margo Hanson_ — and the same general reaction can be pulled from this weak magician. 

It's fun, to toy with him like this. Like an inverted puppet, with invisible strings. 

He does have to admit that he misses Quentin, though. He'd had a pretty tight hold on him in the beginning, when he thought his name was Brian and had no recollection of the magical world he belonged to. Then his infuriating friends managed to get their traveller through his wards long enough to collect Quentin when he was out on a hunt. Quentin betrayed him — instead of planning new card tricks he was planning an escape, and for that he would have to die. 

"Hush, now," he drawls to his reflection in this dingy hotel room mirror, knowing all too well how clearly Eliot could hear him.  _Eliot._ He taunts him with it sometimes, the fact that he knows his name, his secrets, his fears — anything he desired to know, he would just look deeper into the unlocked safe that is his mind. And the fact that he has such easy access to everything is something he knows drives Eliot insane, and that is simply delicious. 

"Shh," he taunts again, holding his own stare in the mirror while pumping fifteen pumps of foaming soap into his hands. "Or I'll make sure you'll never forget any moment of their slow, painful —" 

_"Room service!"_

The voice is female, and comes from just outside the hotel room door. After a somewhat satisfactory meal last night, he'd mind-controlled the front clerk into believing he'd paid for a room. He tries to cast himself into this woman's mind, to figure out her intents and maybe to compel her to leave at once, but the door is broken off its hinges by a surprisingly strong burst of battle magic. 

"Hey, asshole." 

The woman, with a damaged past that runs scars through her core, says it with a wide grin. Kady, he assumes, going off of Eliot's memories. She lifts her hands and topples him over with another blast. While all this happens, the woman who must be Alice casts a fairly impressive shield around them, blocking his attempts on them. He begins to push his way through the ward, eager to kill and blinded by the desire, when Penny, the fucker who stole Quentin from him, rests a hand on his shoulder. Before he can do anything, he's lost in his control. 

* * *

He wakes in a rather filthy room, cramped and smelling of sewage, and he can feel the power behind one of those weakling spells they teach to these humans, a spell that keeps him from producing magic of his own. He looks around and is actually somewhat impressed, until he sees the roughly drawn markings on the floor; a weak attempt at some demon trap, and he instantly becomes offended. 

"You really think I'm just some low-life demon?" 

His voice is shrill, and spittle flies in anger. However, it is Eliot's voice through-and-through, and it pleases him, watching the High King grip the edges of a table when he begins speaking. He wonders if she'll be stupid enough to punch him. He hopes so. Then he'll have no choice but to rip her throat out. 

He stands from the chair they've placed him in, easily shifting out of their attempt at restraints. The rope hangs from his thin wrists, effortlessly, like they were a fashion choice and they weren't enchanted to keep him tied up. This has all of them turning to face him, and he finally gets a view of Quentin, his head purposefully buried in a book. 

"Oh Quentin," he sing-songs, smiling when he meets his gaze. "I've missed you." 

"Shut up." Julia says, her voice a one-two punch. 

"I have to be honest with you, this weak attempt at a trap is hilarious," he continues taking slow steps to articulate his point, hands behind his back, strolling closer to the edge of the so-called trap. "Seriously. Brava. But you didn't really think that this would work on  _me,_ right?" 

The tip of his shoe edges past the line etched on the cement, and he smiles. 

"No," Kady says, with an even wickeder smile. "But I think this will." 

She pushes her hands forward again, her fingers interlocked. She casts out what essentially feels like a magic missile, aimed right at his chest. It's the last thing he remembers before he blacks out. 

* * *

"Jesus. Christ." Margo says, after the dust had settled. "Fuck." 

Eliot — the monster, shit — is knocked flat on his back, eyes closed. Quentin lets out a shaky breath and feels Julia's hand resting on the crook of his arm. Penny moves forward because nobody else will, and man-handles the monster back into the chair. 

Kady starts enchanting a heavier duty set of restraints with Josh, while Alice is working on creating some cell that is essentially built of shields and wards; a one-way mirror of magic. Quentin can't stop looking at how worn Eliot is. While the monster's clearly kept up on the occasional eyeliner Eliot would swipe around his eyes — which deeply fucks with head — they're clearly red-rimmed and the circles under them are bruises of violet. His hair is longer than he's ever seen it, curling around the underside of his ears. And he's so thin, his cheekbones prominent and clothes loose around his frame. Quentin just wants to hug him, frankly, and press a kiss to the jut of his jawbone.

"Hey, do you need a minute?" Julia asks, her voice a low murmur. 

He shakes his head, but an idea's been swirling around in his mind and so he glances at Jules, and then addresses the room. He meets Margo's eyes especially, because she'll be the first to reject what he's about to say. 

He says it anyway. 

"When he wakes up, I want to talk to him alone." 

"No way in hell, Quentin." Margo's voice is unwavering, arms crossed over her chest. "Absolutely not."

Alice pipes up next. "He'll just throw lie after lie at you." 

"But there might be some clues in there, too. Listen, I have to do this." Quentin tucks the hair fallen from his half-pony behind his ear. "You guys will literally be right outside, and if things go sideways Penny can get me out in like half a second if he has to." 

Margo's jaw is set and she's giving him a look she's clearly mastered during her reign as High King, but he knows what lies beneath. She wants answers just as badly. She wants her Eliot back. 

"Q, can I talk to you?" Margo asks, but she poses it more like a statement. It doesn't matter what he wants; either way, this discussion is happening. She's pulling him away by his wrist before he can say a word, anyways. 

"Margo, it's the only way —" 

"Do you understand how dumb you're being right now?" Margo asks, eyes burning holes into his skin. "There's a fine line between being the hero and being the idiot who gets murdered in the first half of the movie and I'm not going to lie, you're sounding a hell of a lot like the latter right now, Q." 

"I know it's not a good idea, okay? I do." Quentin rubs the back of his neck. "I'm not trying to be the hero. I'm just trying to get him back. You know as well as I do that we  _need_ him back, I refuse to think about a timeline where we don't." 

Margo swallows, and there's a long silence between them. She finally says: "I'm fucking terrified, Quentin." 

He melts then, a little bit, because she's had so much to deal with recently. He misses Brakebills, no matter how infuriating their drama at school felt. He misses the cottage, and going on bar crawls with Margo and El, and not having the whole fucking world on his shoulders. 

"Fine." She sniffs, trying to straighten her posture. "Fine, you have exactly three minutes. And if we come back in here and he's managed to slit your throat somehow, I will personally find a way to bring you back just to kill you myself." 

The monster is stirring; they all hear Eliot's soft waking noises. All eyes turn to Margo, who locks eyes with Quentin once more before striding out of the room, the others eventually following her lead. As Alice passes him, she holds onto his arm and pulls him close to her. 

"I know we decided day one that we would stay away from options that involved physically harming Eliot, but — here." Alice passes over a Fillorian blade, similar to the one they used on the Beast. This one gleams blue in the harsh light. "It'll kill him, Fen's father guaranteed me. If it comes down to it, don't hesitate." 

Quentin has about five hundred questions, but in the same breath Alice is out of the room, and the monster is fully awakening.  

"All alone, I see."

Quentin slips the blade up his sleeve, out of options, and turns to face the monster. 

"What can I do for you, Q?" 

"Don't call me that." Quentin snaps, hating the way it sounds exactly like El but nothing like him all at once. "Just...let him go."

The monster lets out a bark of a laugh. "Why would I let him go, Quentin? You left me all alone when we were planning on spending eternity together. Isn't that what you desire? An eternity with him? You let me out of here, and I can give that to you." 

"Not when you're mind-fucking him until he's nothing but a shell." Quentin crosses his arms, and keeps a good distance from him. "Not like this. Never. Just give me El back." 

The monster lurches forward, but thankfully Kady's enchantment was stronger this time. 

" _El,_ hmm? You fall in love far too easily, don't you?" The monster narrows his eyes at him, and cocks his head. "If I remember correctly, you already had an eternity with him, right? With your son?" 

He's wearing Eliot's smile, the one saved for private, loving but snarky conversations. Now he's turned it, and their memories, into something evil. He aches, thinking of their little cottage in Fillory, before everything had gone to absolute shit. He aches, thinking of their little family. 

"You know, he thinks so fondly of those memories." 

Quentin sets his jaw. "Stop." 

"He feels...everything," the monster continues, locking eyes with Quentin, pushing him to the limit. "I can feel his anguish, his pain. He's just  _begging_  me to kill him, every day. Did you know that?" 

" _Stop it._ "

"He didn't have much hope anyway, did he? Always throwing himself in front of you all, ever the protector." The monster smiles. "And he did it again. His death wish led to me as a consolation prize."

Quentin's never felt this much anger radiating through him all at once.

"Shut the fuck up." 

The monster actually complies, but the look on his face is so punchable it's scary.

"Listen, I'm giving you a chance here." Quentin really tries not to come across like he's begging but if he's being honest, there's not much else he can do. 

"And I'm telling you, I am a creature of habit. A creature that will forever crave you measly humans. Nothing beats the chaos you create," the monster cocks his head again, letting curls fall into Eliot's dead eyes. " _Nothing_."

Quentin's racking his brain for absolutely anything he could do here, but Margo's the witty one that can talk them out of these sorts of situations. All he's good for is remembering random tidbits of information from children's novels. 

Wait — 

"Is that what you think it is, hmm?" The monster narrows its eyes, nostrils flaring. Quentin forgets that his magic is god-like. He makes Eliot's eyes glow orange, before slowly dimming back to hazel. He lets out a pitchy laugh. "Your friend's wards have holes, Quentin. I can hear every stupid thought in your head. You think you — what. You get one idea and you're suddenly going to become the hero? You think those books are going to save you? I can smell the artificial courage oozing from you, and it's quite embarrassing." 

Quentin moves his arms too quickly, and the blade falls to the floor. The moment seems caught in time; the shockingly loud clang of Fillorian metal against the concrete floor echoing for what feels like a century. The monster's energy changes in a heartbeat. His eyes begin to glow once more, and this time he breaks the restraints, jumping the space between them until Eliot's long fingers are secure around his throat, all in one fluid motion. 

He tries to suck in air around the intrusion that is  _fingers around his throat,_ all while Eliot's face is all up in his own, scarier than he ever could have imagined. He thinks of all the people the monster has killed, turning Eliot into this raging animal. It pisses him off, it makes him feel sick, but — he can't  _breathe._

"You were going to sacrifice him, were you? That's new." The monster whispers, breath hot in his face. "He could still have a chance, you know. He's quite entertaining to slowly destroy." 

Quentin scans the monster's face, hands starting to shake in desperation. The blade is too far away to reach, and he's pretty much royally screwed. But he has one thing working in his favour. He starts mentally screaming for Penny, trying to pass him the imagery of being strangled so he can get the idea. 

"I wonder how loud he'll scream when I kill you with his own hands." 

Things are starting to go fuzzy in the not so good way, when commotion behind him forces the monster to let go of Quentin. He falls to his knees while Margo uses a basic spell to push the monster back to his restraints. Alice casts another shield around them, frantic, acting as another layer of protection. 

The monster focuses on Margo. "Sweetheart —" 

She punches him in the mouth. Blood spills over Eliot's bottom lip, and with one motion she enchants his lips so that they remain closed until they need him to talk again. 

"Are you okay? Q, what did he say?" Julia's voice fills his ears, but his mind is racing, trying to take apart what the monster was saying. 

"I think I know what we need to do." 

* * *

They leave the monster locked up and heavily warded, Alice ensuring any holes were properly covered up, before moving into their main living space to brainstorm. Quentin is able to slip away from the group with Margo in tow, a role reversal from the last time they did this, and he pulls her into the smaller room that some of them sleep in; where the wall is covered in ivy and the cracked window above them offers some cool air while they try to take everything in.

"Okay, so, first things first: El's alive in there." 

Margo physically sags in on herself in relief. They'd all hoped that this would be the case, because at least it might still be possible to get him out. In the cases they'd read up on about possession, it didn't always end up like this. When she meets his eyes again, prompting him to continue, she looks stricken but somewhat hopeful. 

"What else did you get?" 

Quentin sighs. "Well, I think that the answer is in Fillory. Or at least in the books." 

He tries to explain the monster's apparent hatred toward the books, and how his attitude did a one-eighty when he was thinking of anything related to them that could help him. He tries not to get choked up when conveying just how much pain he imagines Eliot's in, and how he figures they don't have much more time. 

"So...he gets pissed off when you think about the books, and that means, what, exactly, in terms of a plan?" Margo asks, fingers linked with his. 

"Well, he's from Fillory right? As old as the land itself?" Quentin shrugs his shoulders. "What if the answer's been right in front of us the whole time and we've been too blind to see it?" 

"Honey, he was locked up for at least a thousand years before Jane Chatwin ever stepped foot through the clock. I don't think the books can really help here." 

Quentin stops fretting and kind of stops listening because  _holy shit._ "Holy shit. What if they can?" 

Margo's eyebrows furrow, but she still follows when he storms out of the room and makes a beeline for the table Alice and Penny are stationed at. All of the supplies they've collected stay here; tomes stacked against the wall, newspapers and online journals are spread out, covering the surface of the table, while laptop chargers and empty food containers are pushed to the side. Underneath it all is what everything started with: Quentin's boxset of  _Fillory and Further,_ volumes one through five in perfect condition. Now, tabs stick out of the sides of the books, marking important passages of things they'd personally encountered in Fillory. 

Quentin picks up volume five, and gently taps the cover as he speaks. 

"Look, in all the books Fillory is painted like this perfect portrait of love and unity, right? At least, that's what most of the world sees. And in this book there's this sort of hidden storyline about witches and an act of love that forums are just now really digging into." 

"Are you trying to tell me that  _love_  is the missing piece to this puzzle? Really?" Penny sounds rightfully unimpressed, but Quentin ignores him and pushes on. 

"Don't you guys remember? Plover put all these little clues to another story right between the lines, a story that told of this greedy creature that wanted the throne and set a curse on the royal family, and then these witches come along and —" 

Margo cuts him off this time, gentler than she's ever done it. "Sweetie, with all my love and respect, there's a bit of a time crunch here, okay? We need the Sparknotes version." 

"An act of true love." Quentin whispers, as he remembers the ending of the story. He'd hated it as a child but grew fascinated with the hidden story as he came to join forums and fan groups, a gem for the most eagle-eyed fans to enjoy. "Yeah, they uh, they said an act of love as true and strong as the river that runs through Fillory could break even the strongest of curses." 

"I would classify this is a pretty fucking strong curse." Margo says. 

Quentin nods. "So let's do it." 

It only takes a beat for Margo to get exactly where he's going with this, the rest of the group a beat behind her, and she clearly doesn't like it. None of them do. 

" _True love's kiss_  — you're fucking with me, right?" Margo searches Quentin's face with her wide doe eyes, a skeptical gleam working to hide the hope he knows is hovering right there in her mind. "I mean, not only is it rapey as hell, but we don't even know if it'll work." 

Quentin thinks of Eliot, being physically and mentally drained every second they're not doing something to help. The monster said it himself — he's a creature of habit. So what if they could finally break that loop? Quentin keeps getting flashes of Eliot's dead eyes, the raw wounds around his wrists from the enchanted rope, the blood staining much of his visible skin. He eventually sighs and levels with her. "It's worth a try, isn't it?" 

Margo holds his gaze for a long moment, before nodding and grabbing his hand, apparently intent on stomping right to that room where the monster is sitting and doing whatever they have to. Julia manages to intervene before Margo can pull him away too quickly. 

"Wait, shouldn't we have a plan for when the monster's expelled from his body?" Julia says, and Quentin mulls it over in his mind. 

"The blade can do it." Quentin says. "We just have to hold him long enough that he won't try anything while we call on the protection from the witches." 

"And when he's out, we obliterate him." Margo adds. 

"I mean, we can do everything we can on our side but if Eliot doesn't push through the monster's hold on him, it won't work." Kady points out, casually leaning against Julia. 

Quentin and Margo nod practically at the same time. 

"It'll work." Quentin assures them. "He can do it, I know he's been trying. We can get the fucker out of him and then properly wake him with the act of true love." 

"And then we just  _keep El alive._ " Margo adds, her hard shell cracking some more, revealing the terror she's feeling over all of this. 

"We will." Quentin promises, and he really hopes that they can. He can't get Eliot back for him to just die because the monster drained him too much. He refuses to let it happen. As they move into action, Alice finally speaks up. 

"Wait so... _Sleeping Beauty_? We're basing everything off a hidden storyline that is clearly a ripoff of a children's fable?" Alice looks between them all as if they all have three heads. "Am I the only one that sees how completely insane this is?" 

"Insane or not..." Margo pauses, hugging her arms over her chest. "It's the only thing we've got." 

* * *

They're getting weaker. Desperate. 

Exactly how he wants them. 

He wakes up and sees Penny, sitting with Kady, keeping watch. And then there's another one, who's nervously smoking in the corner. Josh, he presumes. He's finally met with every member of Eliot's apparent team of questers, and that makes him pleased. Flexing Eliot's hands, he can tell that these restraints are even stronger than the last few. The taste of copper is still on his tongue, and he slowly blinks his eyes open, letting the humans realize he's awake. He wants to get this show on the road. 

Penny notices first.

"What's up, dickwad?"

Kady nudges him, head jutting toward the door. "Penny, go." 

He fades out of the room, leaving Kady and Josh to their own defences. He uses Eliot's straining voice to cackle, just to give them a little scare. He's starting to break through the High King's spell, and they know that time isn't on their side. He's already decided that Kady will be one of the last he'll kill — she's strong enough to deserve a fighting chance, yet she's done enough damage to him that he kind of feels like watching her watch her friends die gruesomely. 

"Josh, now." 

He turns his gaze to the smoker, and watches him deftly move his fingers, as these weak magicians have to do. The wards holding him hostage glimmer as they power up some more. Lifting Eliot's hands is a slow process, because he's starting to lose power over basic bodily functions. Shame. Either way, he gets them up and slowly claps, showing his glee. Truly, he is gleeful that this next meal will be so overflowing with magic that it should keep him full for a while. 

It freaks Josh out, very clearly. He's glad. 

"Okay, so what exactly are the others waiting for, because this is so fu—" 

Penny travels back into the room, with his favourite people in tow. He's expecting an attempt with that silly knife, maybe, or yet another little sit down and chat. Either way, he leans forward with a smile and regards both Quentin and Margo with a look that should, to put it in human terms, scare them shitless. 

Instead, they begin reciting Latin in unison, something about calling upon the protection of Fillory's witches and the act of true love, blah blah, while the god-touched one, Julia, simply waves her palm and he becomes paralyzed, only able to move Eliot's eyes and barely wriggle his fingers. Which is...well, it's a problem. Margo looks intense in her stare, her eyes on his while moving her hands and reciting along with Quentin, who looks equally as focused. 

A warm feeling spreads through Eliot's core, and he tries to shrug away from the imminent heat. The Latin becomes directed at him, he thinks, hearing them call for his expulsion. He tries to laugh but can't, and they clearly catch this because Quentin and Margo step closer, fingers outstretched. Quiet falls over the room, the only sound coming from the choppy Latin that's slowly getting louder. 

Eliot's trying to cast him out, that much is obvious. But he refuses to let him win. 

"Come on, El." Margo whispers, when there's a break in the chant. 

Maybe he's stronger than he took him for. Because for the briefest of moments, Eliot is back in control. He quickly blasts him away, far back in his mind, and tries to force some power outward to weaken these damned humans and their rage. 

"You'll regret this." He grits out, feeling his power drain by the second. 

"I don't think we will." Quentin says, as he lifts his hand and snaps his fingers. 

It's the last thing he sees before blacking out for good. 

* * *

"I thought he was supposed to —" 

Quentin shakes his head, watching as Eliot's body simply slumps forward. He watches the shift in Eliot's eyes, and when blood begins to drip from his nose, a sign of expulsion, he turns to Margo. "Now." 

She glances over at Quentin for only a second before she lurches forward and gently presses her lips to Eliot's, tears threatening to spill as she pulls away. Quentin's still murmuring Latin, and he notices the minuscule fluttering of Eliot's closed eyes, but nothing more. There's a long moment where nobody does anything, holding their breath. 

"What the fuck." Margo breathes, voice small. 

Julia, standing nearby with their enchanted blade, takes a step forward. "I think it's working." 

"Your turn, Quentin." Alice says, from somewhere behind them, and Quentin glances back at her. She just nods toward Penny, who's gone from his stoic position standing by the door to crouching, hand pressed to his forehead. 

"I can kind of get a read on him, but it's hazy." Penny shakes his head, trying to get a clear head. "But Alice is right — it's both of you." 

Quentin's always been aware of his love for Eliot, though that type of love has bloomed into something more than the ease of friendship he felt since his early days at Brakebills. And if his time with him at the mosaic meant anything, they were always kind of destined to find one another. His love for Eliot is a quiet hum in the happiest corners of his mind, but to know this whole time he's been subconsciously ignoring those signals from deep down inside of himself — it punches him in the gut. El needs him, and he needs Margo, and maybe they all need each other more than they realized. 

Margo elbows him in the side, before gently pulling him forward. While she continues their repetitive Latin, Quentin doesn't think about it — he just leans forward, hand gentle on Eliot's neck and, natural as breathing, kisses him. It's a solid three seconds of his lips pressed against Eliot's, but he feels warm. 

So he personally thinks it's fair that he almost falls on his ass in shock when Eliot takes a sharp gasp of air half against his mouth, eyes darting around. Quentin stumbles backward, giving him the space he needs, while Julia stands on the ready with the blade. Surely enough, not thirty seconds later, Eliot begins hacking up blood. Quentin would contribute it to his already shitty smoker's lungs, but then the monster's —  _spirit? aura?_  — form begins to leave Eliot in a thick, yellowish plume of smoke. 

Julia's ready for it, of course, and when it tries to slip out of her grasp Penny's there to drop a hand on her shoulder so they can travel to meet the fucker. 

Eliot's still coughing as all of this happens, blood splattering over his fist. 

They all rush forward at once, Kady and Alice talking quickly amongst themselves about the possibilities of mashing together a bunch of the minor healing and wound-mending spells with some of Kady's hedge-witch information. Josh offers some third-year spells and some Naturalist approaches, mainly to smooth out the rough edges of their casting. Quentin holds onto Margo, who's shaking like a leaf. 

"It's okay," Quentin whispers, mostly into her hair. 

Margo pulls him with her as she moves, her determination fuelling her magic and rolling off of her in waves. She takes them to where the others are working on hammering out the details, knowing this has to happen quickly. 

"We can all work together." Margo says, easily taking charge. She hides her fear behind her ability to lead, and her set jaw. "Come on, we can do this." 

Elements of about fifteen different spells are split amongst them all, and with a nod from Margo they reach their hands out to hover over Eliot's drooping form. They all begin speaking in different languages, moving from French to Spanish to Japanese. Quentin feels like he's not nailing the syllables as he recites Greek, but then he notices the improvement in Eliot's breathing, and while his upper lip is stained red, blood no longer flows from his nose or any other wounds. 

Eliot coughs a couple more times, and as the magical glow starts to dull around him, he finally looks awake. They wait with bated breath until he speaks,  _finally._

"You know, I kinda thought I'd be in Fillory when I'd get my saved-by-knights-in-shining-armour moment." 

It shocks a short laugh out of all of them, and Eliot winces as he sort of slumps to the floor. Quickly, Kady helps him remove the remaining rope from his wrists, and Quentin notices that the mending spell has already started to ease some of the rawness there, too. 

There's a beat of silence in the room, and Margo's shocked state melts into something more. She loses all composure and chokes out the sob that's been lodged in her throat, and crumbles to her knees to throw her arms around Eliot and softly cry into his neck, murmuring thanks to every god of Earth and Fillory combined. Eliot falls into her grasp and breathes in her hair, shaking as he finally lets go of everything he's endured the last few weeks. Quentin hears him quietly talking to her, calling her  _my Bambi_ , so fond and loving it nearly shatters him in two. 

They're still all wrapped up in each other when Penny and Julia travel back, the blade glowing vibrantly in her hand. 

"He's dead." Julia days, dropping the blade and letting the noise echo through the room, a loud note to mark the end of this. To make the end of their suffering. 

"Well, thank fuck." Josh breathes, dropping into a chair as everyone begins to visibly relax. 

"Anyone else  _need_  to get sloppy drunk?" Eliot asks, voice still rough. Always trying to push his emotions back for the sake of others. 

But Quentin sees right through him. 

* * *

None of them really achieve the status of  _sloppy,_ but they certainly get drunk. 

The warehouse's lights are dimmed and are replaced with little balls of light that hover in the air, glowing different colours. Party magic created by Josh, who'd snapped his fingers just so a few hours back and made the room a little more reminiscent of a party in the cottage. Margo doesn't leave Eliot's side, but really, they're all piled together around Julia's laptop, watching dog videos on Youtube. 

Quentin's watching Eliot, though. 

He's acting like he's okay, like he didn't just experience what he did. But Quentin watches him chain-smoke half a pack of cigarettes in less than two hours. Quentin watches him latch onto Margo and refuse to let go, wrapped up in her. Quentin watches him be anything  _but_ okay, and it sticks the dagger deeper into his gut. 

When they eventually stalk off to bed, all of them desperately in need of sleep, Eliot opts instead to sit in the old shipping and receiving dock of the warehouse, the only area in the building that had outdoor access besides the main entrance. Quentin convinces Margo to get some rest; he promises her that he'll keep an eye on Eliot, because of course she's picked up on how off Eliot is. They'd expected it, of course they did, but they didn't think Eliot would be hiding it so well. 

So Margo agrees to sleep for a few hours, passed out in one of the cots, and Quentin finds a cheap bottle of red in the main living area. He strolls over to Eliot, bottle to his lips. He settles on the same flipped over crate Eliot fashioned into a seating area, large enough for the two of them. Quentin brings his legs up and crosses them, and offers the bottle to Eliot wordlessly.

"I don't need a babysitter, Q." Eliot whispers, his eyes focused on the inky blue of the night sky, the moon hidden behind thick smog and clouds. Another cigarette rests between his fingers, the cherry illuminating his features. Quentin's still trying to get the images of the monster out of his head — he hears Eliot and tries to ignore the memory of his fingers around his throat. It kills him on the inside; rips him apart in every way. 

"I'm just here if you need to talk." Quentin says, picking at the label of the bottle when Eliot declines a sip. "I — you can trust me, El." 

Eliot remains quiet, and it's hard to miss the tremble of his fingers as he brings the cigarette to his lips, taking a long drag. 

"You know, he kept planning out your death. Every detail of it." Eliot mutters, smoke spilling out of his mouth, curving around his words. He lets out a small chuckle, though nothing about this situation is funny at all, and he taps his temple. "It's all up here." 

"El —" 

"I did shit to people that's going to haunt me forever, and the thing making me want to claw my fucking eyes out is his plan for your death." Eliot snubs out his cigarette, pressing it into the plastic ash tray he'd brought out with him. "I mean, he was going to use my hands to tear Bambi's throat out and then make me watch him kill you. But it was still my hands." 

"It wasn't you, okay?" Quentin grabs his hands, which are furiously shaking. "That sick fucker did all of this. None of it was you." 

"I kind of wish he killed me." Elliot whispers, letting Quentin lock their fingers together. 

Quentin wishes he could turn back time. He wishes he could prevent all of this from happening. Fuck, he wishes he could've just kept Eliot away from the monster all together; he would've gladly accepted his fate as the jailor for all of eternity if it meant that none of this would've ever happened. 

"You're more than what he did to you," Quentin tells him, looking up at the hidden stars, looking for words. "I mean, you're Eliot freaking Waugh, right? You're going to overcome this. And you have me and Margo and everyone else in that room to help you through it." 

Eliot looks at him, watching him closely. 

"You're so used to protecting everyone else, El." Quentin finally whispers, sliding his arms around Eliot's shoulders, pulling him close to just hold in a hug. "You've got us. Now we got you, okay? You've got  _me._ I promise." 

He feels Eliot's body settle into the hug, letting his natural inclination for comforting touches taking over. He also feels Eliot's lips against his sternum, through his sweatshirt. It's a comfort in itself; the warmth, the intimacy. Quentin closes his eyes and gently pushes Eliot's unruly curls back, pressing a kiss of his own to the crown of his head. 

"It'll be okay." Quentin whispers, into Eliot's hair, a promise to both of them that things will get better.

* * *

He wakes up in the morning on the couch they'd conjured back when they first found the warehouse, with the steady warmth of Eliot pressed into his side grounding him in reality.

Quentin slowly blinks his eyes open, adjusting to the morning light filtering into the room. Breakfast was left for them — two Egg McMuffins and a coffee each — on the makeshift ottoman. In need of the caffeine, Quentin grabs one of the coffees and downs about half of it in one gulp, looking around and nearly choking when Margo comes into view, her signature smirk resting on her face.

"Morning, princess."

"Very funny." He says, a deadpan response brought on by the early hour. The general vastness of the warehouse feels strange to him, because, well, usually they're tripping over one another. "Wait, where is everyone?"

"They're out finishing up my plan." Margo grins, in the process of securing her eyepatch. She slowly moves across the room, settling on the armrest of the couch, gently touching Eliot's face with the palm of her hand. "How was he last night? Josh found you guys half-asleep in the loading dock."

Quentin glances down at Eliot, who is still burrowed under a throw blanket. "He's going to need time, I think."

Margo presses her lips together. "I hope that fucker rots in hell."

"I'm sure he's not exactly on leisurely vacation down there." Quentin adds, making Margo smile, just a little. "So uh, what exactly is this plan?"

"I figure we've been dicked around by the forces above for too long, so," Margo shrugs, running her fingers through El's hair. "We need protection. Then we're going home. I can't spend one more night in this shithole."

The thought of true protection almost makes Quentin laugh, because they haven't been really safe since before they were enrolled in Brakebills. The idea almost sounds like pure fantasy, and even with racking his brain he can't think of anything that will grant them the peace of mind of actual safety.

As he's going through the possibilities in his mind, the room shakes a little as Penny travels in, the four others in tow. Kady's holding a box with various engravings in the dark wood — their protection, Quentin guesses. 

Margo rises from her position and snaps her fingers, summoning a portal to...Fillory. 

"But —" Quentin starts, only for Kady to step into his line of vision.

"Here, put this on." She says, holding up a very familiar crystal on a thin piece of yarn. Quentin takes the Emmerson's Alloy and places it around his neck, the crystal resting on his sternum, where his skin still tingles from Eliot's kiss the night before. He glances upward and watches as Kady puts one around Julia's neck, fingers lingering on her skin, smiles knowing and private between them. He longs for that. 

So he takes another crystal from the box, ignoring the eyes on him, and he moves to sit next to Eliot once more. He's blinked himself awake in the last few minutes, probably feeling the aftershocks of Penny's travelling in his bones. 

"Hey, El." Quentin whispers, sitting next to him, crystal held out as an offer. 

"Trying to make an honest man out of me, Q?" Eliot smiles, tilting his head forward, inviting Quentin to put it on for him. "A little soon, isn't it?" 

"We never did understand boundaries." Quentin says, reminiscing on how even two or three days into their friendship, it wasn't unlikely for Eliot to touch him like they were something more; hands constantly on his shoulders, and Quentin leaning into the touch. He eventually started yearning for it, so desperate for the other's man touch after just a short time together. 

He settles the crystal around Eliot's neck, an easy smile resting on his lips. Eliot, whose eyes are still a little red around the edges, matches it. They're probably sitting like that for too long to be considered normal, or at all platonic, because Margo clears her throat in the most exaggerated manner possible. 

"Gross." She says, fondness dripping from her voice. 

Eliot looks up at her, feigning shock. "Oh come on Bambi, you'll always be my number one." 

"That's right." Margo winks, before turning to the group. "Alright losers, let's head home." 

Quentin helps Eliot to his feet, and while the others begin stepping through the portal, they stand back. Memories flood his senses all too quickly, and all Quentin can think about is the last time they did this; the last time they just hopped through a door to Fillory and ended up spending fifty years bent over a mosaic. He misses it, sometimes, the simplicity of their life and the ease he felt with Eliot and Arielle and their son. But there was so much pain there, too. The uncertainty buzzes throughout his entire being, and he hates not knowing what's coming next. 

"Q?" Eliot's voice has gone quiet, and Quentin turns to face him. His face has gone serious, too, and he's all of a sudden panicking that the crystal has stopped working on him; that maybe some strange residual power from the monster has taken hold of him once more. Instead, Eliot rests his hands on Quentin's shoulders, his fingers digging into flesh and muscle. "You know how much I hate showing my true emotions, but I'm — I don't want to go in there. Also, I'm in love with you." 

"What." His voice comes out higher than he intended, thrown off in every possible way. Sure, he figured Eliot loved him, if the whole kiss to save him meant anything, but. He's in capital-L  _love_ with him, and Quentin's soul yearns to be with him. Every second of every day, especially since they saved him. It's only been, what, fifteen hours? But if he lost Eliot again he doesn't know what he'd do. 

Before Eliot can open his mouth to backpedal on his declaration, which is something he's pretty good at, Quentin surges forward and kisses him. He feels like they're going fast considering Eliot was  _possessed_ the night before, but so much relief floods his senses that he doesn't care. Eliot's fingers slip upwards; moving from his shoulders to cupping the back of his neck, deepening the kiss and pressing his front against Quentin's. They've kissed so many times now, but it's evolved so much since the time they were fumbling through the threesome with Margo, kisses desperate and emotionally fucked. Quentin feels Eliot's stubble under his hands, the fine hair adding another layer to their kiss. He can practically feel Eliot's pulse, they're so close, and when they pull back their hearts beat as one. 

"So what do you say, Coldwater?" Eliot asks, mouth still mostly pressed against his. He angles their bodies so when they open their eyes, their doorway to potential freedom is right in front of them.

The portal is like a looming presence, and it feels like Fillory is calling out to them. 

There might be an army waiting on the other side. There might be an angry god, waiting with another chance to fuck them sideways and send them into another timeline. If they're lucky, there might just be their friends, awaiting their arrival. Either way, even if there's trouble lurking, at least they'll be together. At least Eliot's back, and even though he'll take some time to fully return to himself, there's nothing he would change about this outcome. Not a thing. 

"I love you too." 

Eliot grins, wide and beautiful, and Quentin kisses him where his jaw meets his throat, quick. Then they step into sunlight, and Fillory, and  _magic._

And even if it's just for a little bit, all is good in the world. Exactly how it should be. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!! a cheesy ending, i know, but these guys deserve some nice things. kudos and comments are much appreciated!!
> 
> come say hi on [ tumblr! ](http://lizzogay.tumblr.com/)


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